


The Domestics

by KiwiBaer



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Description of wounds, Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's modern but Geralt is a Witcher still, Jaskier is a YouTuber (kinda), Jaskier | Dandelion Has Anxiety, Love Confessions, M/M, Meditation, Modern AU, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBaer/pseuds/KiwiBaer
Summary: A low-stress compilation of vignettes from a Modern Au I've been working on where Geralt and Jaskier travel the world together, hunting monsters and renting out apartments on monthly leases. There is no cohesive plot and the timeline will likely not be linear. Enjoy!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 69





	1. Slice of Life

**Author's Note:**

> More details on the Au in the end notes. Honestly, I'm using this as stress relief while I work on other projects and because I have so many ideas in my head to put into one fic alone. So a collection of random thoughts instead! Also, I wanted a story I didn't have to beat myself up about to make sure it was super polished and edited, so I'm declaring that this is allowed to be messy!!!  
> I can't promise how often or if I update this fic, it'll just be whenever the thought hits me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Jaskier didn't like knives. They made him nervous in very understandable ways, mostly the not wanting to get stabbed with a pointy thing way. He was reasonably and _rationally_ concerned that he would end up hurting himself or others if he held one. It wasn't that he was unable to use them, however, he was actually getting pretty good at it. He'd made quite a few _very_ successful meals in his time (never mind that it was usually to impress someone he was currently trying to date), but that didn't take way from the fact that his skin prickled any time he lifted a sharp blade. When he held one, pinched tightly in his palms, he worried about his grip slipping away from him. He worried about the knife tilting in a direction he wasn't expecting.

There was also the occasional intrusive thought that came with knives, when he imagined much bloodier, much more purposeful scenarios. The kind of thoughts that sent him spinning away from the cutting board to breathe.

But knives were definitely in Geralt's neck of the woods. It was a part of his calling. Jaskier loved to watch Geralt cook for them, if only to see the ease in which he chopped onions into perfect cubes, or how he delicately sliced into apples while cutting towards his own palm. No hesitation or worry. The smooth glide of all of his motions brimming with confidence. Normally, Jaskier couldn't stand to watch someone else wield a knife; the anxiety it induced was always worse than when he held on himself. Yet, Geralt was always so precise in his movements, he was the one person that never cause Jaskier to worry.

So, when they settled down on the kitchen floor, old newspapers strewn to protect the tile from the guts that were about to spill, Jaskier readily gave Geralt the knife. It was his responsibility to cut the tops off of the pumpkins they were carving, Jaskier hated doing it himself. Someone about the chef knife being too big, the pumpkins being too slippery and hard to carve into. It made everything much worse. It was their largest knife after all, because the wimpy one-inch saws that came with the kit really would take three hours to cut into the tops, and come out bent at 90 degrees in the end.

"Be careful." Jaskier said with a playful grin, which Geralt rolled his eyes at. He accepted the knife delicately still, avoiding catching Jaskier's skin with any part of the blade.

"I'm much more careful than you are."

Jaskier settled across from his boyfriend, rolling his pumpkin around on the floor in front of him. The pumpkin it had taken him over an hour to pick out because it needed to be the _perfect_ size and shape for his vision. That he'd only truly managed to pick out once the rain started. Which meant that it had ended up being much too big and bulky, and Geralt had to carry it to the car while Jaskier carried Geralt's pumpkin. The pumpkin Geralt had picked the second they stepped onto the patch, the first one he saw that was structurally sound. It was barely the size of his own head.

"And yet." Jaskier peeked over the top of his ridiculous gourd with a lazy grin. "You're way more reckless than I am."

A scoff from the Witcher and Jaskier laughed.

Geralt shifted onto his knees, getting into a better position as he held his tiny pumpkin on his lap. It was quick work cutting a jagged shape around the stem while Jaskier continued to tease.

"Don't pretend like it isn't true." Jaskier wagged his finger at him. "I'm not the one who went running headfirst into a griffin nest last weekend."

This time, Geralt grunted, letting his pumpkin rest back into his lap. He popped the top off, testing his cuts. It separated easily and he set it aside. Then, he shifted to a sprawl that mimicked Jaskier's position, grabbing Jaskier's pumpkin and rolling it between his legs. It was much to heavy to hold on his lap. He balanced the knife in his palm, stabilizing the massive beast of a fruit as he got ready to carve into it.

"I had a plan." He said. Gruffly.

Jaskier grinned.

"A plan you had to abandon the second you realized it wasn't a mated pair, but a coalition. Four. Male. Adult. Griffins. That was a nasty surprise, wasn't it? And _then_ had to wing it for the whole fight after you got caught by the back of your jacket and your equipment stolen from you. But oh no! Not a reckless action in the lot of it. I'm sure it will make for great footage."

Jaskier leaned on his palm and beamed impishly when he received a glare from Geralt. The look quickly turned dreamy as the Witcher expertly pierced the rind of the pumpkin, perhaps a bit irately for some unknown reason, stabbing into its hollow center. His boyfriend was silent as he adjusted his grip, long hair falling halfway into his face. Clearly, he was trying to work up an argument or some sort of rebuttal.

Not everyone was as unerringly quick-witted or clever-tongued as Jaskier.

"Well." Geralt said finally. "You're the human that follows me into danger. Without any weapons."

Jaskier pursed his lips, straightening up and switching to his other palm. Considering. That was... very true. But also, he couldn't imagine a version of himself that wouldn't follow Geralt into a griffin nest with nothing but a camera and some old-fashioned gumption. "Yeah, but it's you. And it's my job to do it as well."

Geralt raised his brows at him, just one quick glance up and then back to the pumpkin. "Doesn't make it any less reckless, Jask." He started sawing through the thick shell, motions smooth. Carving his way into a lazy circle, just as he had done before.

He was rewarded with a grin that was nothing but teeth, Jaskier tipping his head the other way. "Fine, fine. I'll give, you big brute. You're reckless in battle. And I'm recklessly in love with you."

Geralt's hand slipped. He grunted.

A nervous giggle erupted from Jaskier as he slapped a hand quickly over his mouth and sat up. "Oops, was that too soon?"

Geralt stared down at the pumpkin for a steady moment, not looking at him. After a heavy beat, much to Jaskier's dismay, the Witcher stood up quickly, abandoning the gourd while it was still only half-carved. Jaskier sputtered a few words of surprise, watching as Geralt turned and began to walk away from him. Throwing up a brick wall so suddenly after they were just getting comfortable around each other.

"Wait—fuck, Geralt—Geralt I'm sorry!" He tried, jumping to his feet as well. Honestly, he had a feeling it would be too soon to test out the _L_ word on his boyfriend, but he hadn't thought it would make him run _away_. They were living together for gods' sake. "I didn't mean to rush you, darling, you don't have to—"

Instead of turning and leaving the kitchen as Jaskier feared, Geralt stepped smoothly to the sink. He ran the water cold and stuck his right hand underneath the stream. Not running away then, but...?

Jaskier stood for a moment longer by the pumpkins, flabbergasted, mouth agape. Mind floundering.

"G-Geralt?" He stepped a bit closer when he caught his breath again, lips drawn in a tight frown. "What are you... doing?"

Geralt grunted. He was staring fixedly at his hand now as Jaskier drew slowly closer, approaching with caution. Jaskier had no idea what was happening and his boyfriend, unsurprisingly, wasn't communicating a damn thing.

Turns out, he didn't need to. As soon as he drew close enough, Jaskier's gaze dropped into the sink where he caught sight of the pinkened water flowing down the drain. The watery blood on Geralt's palm.

"Oh gods!" Jaskier bounded closer, hands going to grasp onto Geralt's arm and tugging it towards him as panic gripped at him. Pulling Geralt's hand from the stream, he caught sight of a violent upwelling of blood now, a streak of crimson bubbling down his pointer and middle fingers, dripping down to his wrist. Too many thoughts launched through Jaskier's head, he couldn't grab onto what to say.

Geralt pulled his arm away and went back to washing the wound silently. His movement were jerky but still controlled, not dislodging Jaskier's hand on him as he focused on his fingers. The water in the sink remained red and he grimaced. "The bleeding isn't stopping..." He said, without thinking.

Jaskier gasped raggedly. And then the words were flowing, though he still wasn't processing what he said. "Oh _gods._ Geralt, do we need to take you to the hospital? Oh fuck, can a hospital even _treat_ a Witcher? Or is it like one of those weird things—normally we're in the backwoods somewhere and it's emergency first aid—fuck, is it too deep? Can you move your fingers still? Do you need stitches? Geralt _those are my favorite fingers_."

Geralt choked out a laugh, startled into it, before giving his panicked boyfriend a look. Jaskier just stared back at him, forehead pinched and lips parted. Distress written everywhere on his face.

"Geralt, what do we do? What do you need? Wh-what should I do?"

Geralt let out a sigh and reached across his chest, gently wrapping his left hand around Jaskier's wrist. "Jask, breathe."

Jaskier inhaled sharply, too sharply. "I _am_ breathing—"

Geralt grunted, pain once more lacing up his arm again when he twisted the angle and the water found a new nerve. His entire hand was throbbing. This was by far not the worst injury he'd ever had but it was a bit deeper than was comforting. "It's not that bad."

"It looks _pretty bad_."

He kept his voice stable, trying to catch Jaskier's eyes as they darted over every inch of the cut. He dropped his face, blocking Jaskier's sight. Jaskier was biting into his lip, tearing at the skin again. "For a human, yes. For me... I'll be fine."

Jaskier didn't stop chewing on his lip, so Geralt pulled him in slowly. Let the human tuck himself under his arm and wrap his arms around his waist. Jaskier nestled into the embrace, shaking a bit from the whole ordeal, still not looking away from the wound.

Normally, they were both so hyped up on adrenaline at the end of a battle, that Jaskier's mind hyper-focused on tending to Geralt. His brain wasn't allowed to wander, not in a situation of life or death. And he was always aware it was a possibility, when they took on the monsters.

But there wasn't supposed to be any monsters in the apartment. They were supposed to be safe in here. Jaskier hadn't been _prepared_ for the injury.

Geralt watched his face the whole time, knowing that Jaskier wouldn't be settled with words. They just had to wait for the wound to settle, so he could _show_ Jaskier he was fine.

True to his words, when he finally pulled his hand from the water and lifted his palm up, it was already better than it had been. The cut was still an ugly red, but the blood puddled lazily now, slowing in its flow. Sure, it had taken longer to stop than he was used to from a nick, but the bleeding would stop without direct medical intervention. It was enough now that he could flick a hand towards the pantry, where their first aid kit (their very extensively large first aid kid) was kept, motioning for Jaskier.

Jaskier's reaction was immediate as he let out a quick breath, peeling himself away from Geralt's side and jogging to the pantry. Geralt was forbidden from tending to wounds himself unless Jaskier wasn't around. It was a practiced endeavor at this point to search through the kit and fetch out the proper disinfectants and bandages to treat the wound.

Jaskier's mind was still reeling. Normally, the wounds were inflicted by other things... Monstrous things. Not... Not Geralt's nonexistent clumsiness.

Jaskier hopped up onto the counter beside the Witcher when he had what he needed, leveraging Geralt's hand onto his lap and laying out his things beside him. Like this, Jaskier was taller than Geralt, the both of them able to settle a bit comfortably into the familiar position. Jaskier's expression was stony in concentration. In a matter of minutes, Geralt's fingers were bandaged efficiently, the bleeding stopped enough that it didn't show through.

Finally, Jaskier was able to truly breathe, letting it out in a sigh. Honestly, and he thought that the monsters were going to be the death of him.

"You realize." Jaskier started, gazing down at the hand still rested on his lap. "That I'm never trusting you with a knife again."

Geralt scoffed, flipping his hand to overtake Jaskier's, holding onto it tightly. "Only if you're going to keep surprising me with... confessions. While I hold one."

They were still for a moment. Then slowly, Jaskier lifted his head to meet the golden gaze he'd been avoiding. He studied Geralt's face closely, eyes roaming over every inch and looking for any signs he could read from it. He hadn't been certain if Geralt was going to address the conversation from before.

"It really was too soon." Jaskier finally said with a sigh.

"Maybe... a little soon."

"I'm sorry, love, I—"

Geralt leaned in, stepping between Jaskier's spread thighs and pressing to the counter. He kissed him quickly, cutting off the ramble that was just about to begin. Their hands rested between them. He smoothed his thumb along the back of Jaskier's knuckles, as his hands started to shake again.

He struggled for the words.

"I don't... mind. If you want to. Say it. I... I liked it." He managed after a bit. Jaskier's head tipped back and that studying look returned. Geralt was the one to look down at their hands now. "It surprised me. I don't know it I..."

Jaskier let out a soft, huffing laugh as he threw his arms around his boyfriend. His ridiculous, silly, emotionally conflicted all the fucking time boyfriend. "Oh Geralt, I don't need you to say it back—yet." He corrected himself quickly at the end, tapping his fingers against Geralt's lips. Fixing him in a stern look. "Yet. I want to hear it eventually, for certain. I wanna hear you declare how much you absolutely adore your travelling companion and all he does for you and shout it from the rooftops." His grin turned soft and his hand slipped from Geralt's lips to his cheek. Soothing, for Geralt was turning a little pale at his teasing. " But only once you're ready. I know words aren't your strong suit, dear heart."

Geralt raised his brow. "Mm? What is?"

Jaskier's grin turned devilish again. He tipped his head. "Well, I would have said wielding blades, but..."

Geralt growled at him, hiding his amusement for but a moment, before the both of them were laughing lightly. The tension diffused, conversations of love stalled for another day. Though Jaskier still felt a thrill run through him, knowing that now _he_ was allowed to say it. As long as the other wasn't near anything sharp at the time, it seemed.

"But seriously." Jaskier rested a hand on Geralt's chest, searching for his eyes again. "You're not using that knife again."

They finished carving the pumpkins with the awful provided saws, Geralt nearly given his own heartattack as Jaskier almost slipped on his own flimsy blade once or twice. They were both rather glad to be done with the endeavor and put their tools down.

In the end, they placed their completed pieces out in the hallways of their apartment, nested against the door on an ugly grey carpet. One pumpkin sported a giant, obnoxious bubbling cauldron that had taken too much time but came out rather well. What it lacked in finesse, it made up for in sheer ambition and size. Jaskier beamed proudly at it.

The other gourd was emblazoned with the head of a wolf. While small, it was all sharp, precise lines and expert craftsmanship.

Their lease would be up on the 30th, so the jack-o-lanterns wouldn't get to stick around to see Halloween for themselves. They would be up and moving again, finding their next location to hunker down in, see what jobs came their way, and then move on from once again within a few months.

Their professions didn't leave room for solitary living, but Jaskier didn't mind the open road, the constant danger. He wrapped his arms around Geralt's waist as they admired the pumpkins at their front door, leaned his weight into the Witcher and sighed contentedly.

As long as he was here, at Geralt's side. He knew he could weather just about anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was loosely based on real events lol  
> Au details: It's the Modern world, but there's still monsters and magic out there. Humans know about Witchers, though the relationship is just about the same as in the show. Jaskier started following Geralt a while ago and created a YouTube channel which he fills with videos he's taken of Geralt fighting monsters, which he usually turns into music videos for his songs. His dream is that one day someone will come approach him to make a documentary on Witcher's with his music and footage, though Geralt would absolutely hate that. He also tries to give night music lessons if they're in one spot for long enough to get more money.  
> Always eager to hear what you think in the comments!


	2. Sinking Into You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen... I've never been able to meditate in my life...

“A mantra?” Jaskier asked, amusement curving his lips. His brow was raised, disbelief and entertainment, they both colored his expression. It almost made up for the tightness of his spine, the muscles bordering his eyes. “You mean like, _Om_?” He let his voice drop lower, belly deep, as he pulled out the sound. Imitated his image of a monk.

Jaskier was sitting across from Geralt in the center of their newest flat. It was a studio and it was cheap, which meant it was little more than a square with a bathroom and one little corner where the refrigerator hummed. Of all the places they’d been together, this one was rather low on the quality spectrum. The walls were too thin, the cement balcony outside was crumbling and certainly not structurally sound. The tile in the bathroom was cracked in thin webs, and there was a stain in the shower. The carpet was ragged. Cigarette smoke seemed permanently burned into the air, no matter how Jaskier threw open the windows or burned candles.

Still, they had a bed to share and a place to cook a meal when needed. It was nothing more than a stop on their Path. Jaskier had made Geralt promise they wouldn’t stay long. Besides, it didn’t matter much when they spent more time driving to the various hunt locales than within the paper-thin walls.

But weather was finicky in early spring, especially where they rested now. Rain careened against the thin glass of their windows, and the wind made the building shake. The hunt they’d been on (more fae than beast, they just wanted to see if the creature would leave peacefully) was fully stalled and they were walled in.

So here they sat. In their dreary fucking apartment on a dreary fucking day. Jaskier cross-legged and tense, trying to settle into himself with humor while Geralt sat tall on his knees, back straightened with perfect posture. They shared a small breath out together, Jaskier cringing as another push of wind rattled by their balcony.

“No.” Geralt grunted. Then tipped his head. “Maybe? It doesn’t have to be.”

Jaskier squirmed. They’d dragged a few pillows off the bed in case he wanted something to sit on, but he pulled it to his chest now instead. As innocuous as it all seemed, this conversation was causing his skin to prickle. His shoulders and the nape of his neck were hot. Something swarmed in his stomach, abuzz and angry.

“Geralt.” He tried, ducking his head.

“I’m just asking you to try.” Geralt kept his voice quiet, but Jaskier still felt like he wanted to flinch. He had to remind himself that Geralt wasn’t the problem here. “Just… think of a word, or a phrase. And repeat it in your head. It could help you relax.”

Geralt was asking the impossible of him. He was asking Jaskier to meditate. He was _asking_ Jaskier to get his head to be empty. And that wasn’t _possible_.

He wasn’t a Witcher. He couldn’t sit on his knees for hours on end, focus his mind in on what he needed, or even just relax into peace He couldn’t just… Still the unnecessary thoughts. Even the idea of standing in the quiet for that long made him feel ill, his stomach tender beneath his ribs. He could only imagine the thoughts his mind would bring when there was not a sound to distract him.

The… mantra… thing. It sounded better than just quiet contemplation, he supposed. But he wouldn’t know what to think. What did he find calming?

The first thing that came to mind was _Geralt_ , but gods. No. He couldn’t just repeat his boyfriend’s name over and over in his head. _Like a mantra_ is something written in erotica. Not for meditation.

He wetted his lips and sighed. He felt Geralt watching him.

What else? _Peace_. That sounded too cheesy, didn’t it? Not very personal. He wouldn’t want to be too stereotypical about this. It would just annoy him if he kept having to think _peace peace peace_ over and over again, when his mind would drift to thinking about how really, he’s a poet, he should be able to come up with something better. Also, wasn’t that what the red panda from Kung Fu Panda used to meditate…? _Inner peace_?

His mind cycled through more options, giving each one not but a passing glance as none resonated. _Quiet, Calm, Home, Dandelions, Don’t Panic, Calm Down, Geralt—_ fuck not that one again.

Jaskier startled as he felt hands settle on his shoulder. In his distraction, Geralt had crept closer, studying his face closely. He was near enough to kiss and Jaskier nearly leaned into it. _Kiss me_. That was a mantra he was familiar with singing in his own mind whenever Geralt was in close proximity.

“You’re thinking too much.”

As if awakening again, he realized his whole body was tense, his hands fists on his knees. He imagined there was tension sunken deep in his face. When had he stopped smiling?

Jaskier groaned, letting his shoulders drop. “Right, you’re so right. I just, you see, well—I don’t know how to not? Do that? I don’t know what the right thing to think about is.”

Geralt look exasperated. “There is no right thing to think about.”

Easy for him to say. He was taught how to think correctly from the moment he was taken to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier had only ever been taught how to _act_ correctly, not that he gave that much mind.

“Geralt.” Jaskier tried again, tipping his head until his cheek pressed to the hand on his shoulder. There was a plea in it all, the motion, his voice. “I can’t do this. It would be _much_ more productive to just sit around and watch The Office while I pretend not to be a person for a little bit.”

The Witcher huffed through his nose at that. Sometimes Jaskier said things that made no sense to him. He knew he wasn’t going about this right, that there had to be some better way to teach Jaskier how to meditate. Because it wasn’t possible that he _couldn’t,_ he just needed to learn how. Geralt needed to teach him, but he himself wasn’t sure how to do that.

Carefully, he flipped his hand over in a motion that dislodged Jaskier’s cheek before he could cup it under his palm. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed at the gentle contact and he let out a breath.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s words came out slow, as he worked out what he wanted to say. “Find something to focus on. Something to take up your attention and let everything else… fade.”

Geralt focused on the way his knees pressed into the ground, the stretch and press of skin as he maintained the bend. His palms, hot with the press of his fingers. His breathing. Bodily sensations, that’s what drew him into the meditative state. If Jaskier could manage it, it might work.

Jaskier looked at him with a twist of his lips that said he was rather unconvinced.

“Close your eyes.” Geralt supplied.

Jaskier cursed him out in his head, but heaved a sigh and did as was asked.

His eyes were closed. The room was dark. It smelled faintly of cigarettes, as always. Nothing he did would get rid of that smell. The wind buffeted at their apartment. Rain. Someone was shifting around upstairs. Geralt’s hand was warm against his cheek.

Geralt’s hand. Jaskier sighed out again, before dragging in a breath just a slow. He could feel the heat of Geralt’s skin, warmer than his cheek. He felt the familiar scrape of hard earned, rugged calluses. He felt Geralt’s hand on his cheek. His breathing was evening out.

Okay. He could do this. Focus on just this, focus on letting his body settle, breathing. Geralt’s hand.

He breathed in. Felt as his body shifted with it, Geralt’s hand lagging minutely and dragging at his skin. He breathed out. Felt as he settled heavier into Geralt’s palm.

His mind drifted.

He came back to himself when he felt lips brush achingly soft against his own, barely a press to it. Just a touch of skin to skin. His eyes opened slowly, and he blinked.

Geralt was smiling curiously at him. “What were you thinking about?”

He wondered how many moments had passed since he closed his eyes. He felt dreamy, a little bit sleepy, and strangely heavy. He thought back to the past few minutes and then a sheepish smile was growing across his face. _Nothing_ , he might’ve said, if he was just a little less spiteful.

“None of your business, Witcher.” He said instead, huffing as if it had been a hardship to relax so deeply.

He refused to acknowledge that _Geralt_ had sort of been his mantra after all. Yikes.

Geralt cuffed the side of his head and pulled back, rolling his eyes. “You’re a brat.” He moved to pull away, but Jaskier chased after him. A tangle of limbs, insistent pulls, and a few growls, and suddenly Jaskier was perched in Geralt’s lap beaming at him. His hands rested on Geralt’s cheek, framing his face.

“Yeah but I looove you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once you let Jaskier love you, he's never gonna stop saying it. This was your fatal mistake, Geralt.


	3. Killer Meet-cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time! 
> 
> Chapter warnings: Blood, canon-typical violence, implications of child abuse.

There was blood dripping down his shoulder as Geralt released a misty sigh into the cold November air. He was pretty certain it wasn’t his own, the mangled body he carried pouring from quite a few wounds, but between the adrenaline and the supplements he couldn’t be certain he wasn’t bleeding himself. The fight had been taxing physically, even without his opponent cutting into him, and just carrying the body towards Roach left him winded. He’d parked the truck in a lot a block from the hunt, to avoid suspicion, but regretted firmly regretted the decision now.

He struggled with the handle and his own balance, angry huffs visible from the light of a street lamp overhead. He yanked and finally the truck caved, opening up with a groan as the door swung wide. Inside, the same worn seats waited for him, draped with a dark blanket for moments like _this_ when he couldn’t leave the kill in some urban neighborhood, waiting for a child to stumble upon and traumatize themselves. He’d bring the body back to the priestess who hired him in the first place and then leave this whole mess behind him.

He heaved the corpse of his shoulder and dumped it into the passenger seat, shoving and forcing it into a position where it wouldn’t be seen as much more than a lumpy blanket while he drove. There was a loud crack beneath his force, but he didn’t bare it any mind, just knocking the slightly limper form further up the seat.

A low whistle behind him, the sort of sound that expressed awe. It was quickly followed by a voice out of the dark. “Wow that’s…. I mean, if you’re taking requests, I know a man I wouldn’t mind getting shoved into a truck so hard his bones break.”

Geralt dropped the body and whirled around, a groan combating with a plea in his throat. _Don’t call the cops_. He had one too many unfortunate run-ins this month, and he wasn’t looking for yet another _firm talking to_ from humans who thought because they kept silver bullets in their side pockets they could do what he did. It was at best a hassle, at worse a confrontation.

The face he know studied made the words catch before he could voice them. A young, scruffy looking kid—a teen—faced him. Tall and lanky, but dressed in clothes meant to hide it. A hoodie and sweats that gave no definition to his form, but were too colorful and flashy to be any sort of incognito. His hair was a rough scramble of brown tangles and even in the artificial light they bathed in, Geralt could see the pallor to his face that showed he hadn’t had a decent meal in days. Despite this, the kid’s eyes were bright, the color hard to decipher with the mess of lighting. But they watched on with a wideness that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with wonder. It was a look that made Geralt deeply uncomfortable.

“It’s a vampire.” He said, gritting his teeth around the words. An alp to be specific, though he doubted the boy had seen any real monsters in his time to know the specifics.

The boy in turn blinked those large round eyes at him. “A vampire? Why…?” Geralt turned back on his heels as he saw realization begin to dawn across the kid’s face, doing some final adjustments on the alp’s body, before stepping back to slam the door shut. All the while, the kid kept talking, “Oh… Oh fun. White hair. Sneaking through the night like a cat. Two very scary looking knives on your hip.” The kid darted forward, right into Geralt’s path as he stepped to circle around the hood of the truck. Geralt’s jaw clenched as the boy dropped his hip against the side of the truck and raised a brow at him. “I know who you are.”

Geralt growled and swung around the boy, hand clutching at the handle of one of his knives. Not that he would _use_ it, not on the human, but…

He heard as the boy stepped quickly after him, matching each stride. The kid had long legs, Geralt shouldn’t be surprised. “You’re the Witcher. The one they hired at the temple. People have been whispering about you.”

Geralt wasn’t sure this kid knew how to whisper. His voice carried across the street and with all the apartments nearby, they were sure to gather some notice soon. He grunted as he reached the door, only to have a palm slap against it as he tried to force it open, the boy scrambling forward again to throw his whole weight against it and stay Geralt’s path.

They were close now, their breaths fogging together, and Geralt leaned over him, lips curling into a snarl. Intimidation would be the way then.

But the teen just looked up at him, breath ragged but not from fear. There was still no sign of terror anywhere on the boy, when the whole town stank of it the moment he stepped onto their streets. He was met eye to eye by the boy, who raised his chin defiantly when he caught the Witcher’s stare. Then, nonsensically, his expression broke and the boy was grinning lazily. “He _could_ be a vampire. I mean, probably. Who could tell the difference, really?”

“Who?”

“The _man_.” The boy waved his hands in front of him, unhelpfully framing his words. “That I was talking about before.”

Geralt looked up at the night sky for a moment and then back to the boy. “I don’t kill humans.”

“I’d hardly call him _human_.”

The boy was still grinning, so Geralt chose to ignore the comment. It was the standard capriciousness of humanity, he figured. They all wanted another person dead, be it from being criticized or scandalized, or what have you. But the moment that person was actually offed, they got guilty and weepy over it. The young ones were the worst of it. Geralt couldn’t imagine what had offended the boy to want this man dead, mostly because he didn’t have the frivolity in him to think of it.

“Move.”

He yanked at the handle in a way that jolted the boy bodily forward, but in a flash the boy was slamming himself back again and it shut tight. It wasn’t a battle of strength—Geralt wasn’t quite at the point of _trying_ yet.

“Move.” He said again. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

The boy grinned wider at that, wildly. “I thought you said you didn’t kill humans.”

Tired of games already, Geralt reached out a gloved hand and caught the boy by the nape of the neck, shoving him forward and away from the door with enough force to send him to the ground. A disgruntled, pained sound flew from the boy’s lips as he raised his head to glare at the Witcher now. His knees were probably bruised from hitting the asphalt. There was a difference between killing and hurting, a difference he didn’t mind exploring when the situation called for it.

Geralt turned from him and slipped into the truck.

“Gods _dammit_ , wait!” The boy leapt up and slammed his palms against the side of Geralt’s door just as he pulled it closed. That casual grin was nowhere to be seen, replaced with a crazed sort of desperation. “If you’re not in the market for killing, how—how about a carpool?” His voice got softer, less desperate as he spoke and instead, he was flashing his eyes at Geralt in something that was a mix of hopeful and pleading. Trying to charm his way into it.

Geralt kept his expression steady. He wasn’t looking for any road companions, let alone one who was just beginning to shave. “Step back.”

There was something miserable in the way the boy’s expression twisted, in the way his fingers dug deeper into the metal of the truck, how he pressed forward. “Please, I—I just want to get out of here. To find something out there, real adventure. And you—you have this _smell_ about you, like death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak—”

Great. Geralt was being romanticized by a poet now. He was pretty sure he smelled like the acid bite of alp blood and sweat and maybe his own blood as well, though he still couldn’t feel anything but the slow pulsing of his heart. The chemicals in his body had to be wearing off soon…

The boy pressed his hand to the glass, realizing he wasn’t getting any response out of Geralt. “Please, _please_. I don’t beg this lightly, Witcher. Take me with you. I’ll be nothing but silent in the backseat, since your little vampire friend is of course taking up the front, but I’ll be fine just as long—"

Geralt twisted the keys in the ignition, sending Roach roaring to life before the boy could finish the rest of his story. He gave the boy one last glance. A mistake, as he was privileged to see the broken mess of it, the way his lips dropped apart, his brows pinched, his eyes grew haggard. He looked like a man given a death sentence, not refused a ride.

Geralt tried not to look again as he pulled Roach away from the parking lot, and out towards the main road, gaining distance by the second and breathing into it. The kid would be fine. It was a decent neighborhood now that the alp was no longer preying on it, the city supported by a decent mayor, and he probably had some decent family to support him. It wasn’t Geralt’s problem.

It became Geralt’s problem two weeks later, a quarter of the continent away, when he received a terrified call from the priestess. The alp was back. _Impossible_. Then there were more in the town, and people were dying again.

Her words brought an ugly image to mind. A young teen with a gash in his throat, pale eyes looking up at nothing. Last moments filled with nightmares. He’d made a mistake. He’d left too hastily because of a nothing encounter and now… He had to go back.

4am and there were already cars crawling through the streets at a lazy pace. Geralt gripped the wheel tighter, jaw and shoulders tense and growing tenser anytime headlights flashed across his face. Between each occasional blinding, his gaze swiveled down every corner and side alley. He had to keep a sharp eye out now that he was in the heart of their hunting grounds, where the attacks had resurfaced. In the _same_ part of town as before. There’d been more and he’d _missed_ it.

He pulled up into the same parking lot as before, knowing he would have to check the whole area over again. If he kept a specific eye out for a young man in a blue hoodie, it was just to make sure there wouldn’t be any more distractions on this hunt.

There was not another car nor soul in the parking lot as Geralt stepped out of Roach and let the door fall shut behind him. He retrieved a silver chain from the truck bed, dropping it over his shoulder, and slipped a flask into his pocket. For how rare these creatures were supposed to be, Geralt was becoming rather _practiced_ with dealing with them.

He kept an ear out for any sounds in the night, of human forms drifting closer or animal paws meeting the asphalt. Alps weren’t able to physically hide their form with invisibility like some of the other vampire races, but they found their own ways of going about unseen. Any rat, cat or breathing thing nearby was suspect and he couldn’t let himself be caught unawares.

With his focus so intent on the sounds around him, it was easy to pick up the quiet but unsteady breathing nearby and he turned his head towards it in an instant. He drew his blade slowly, creeping towards a dark stairway that led up to the front of one of the nicer apartments in the area. When he caught the scent and saw the splash of color the human made, he released his grip as well as a deep huff of breath.

“What are you doing?” He growled, stalking closer to steps.

The boy jolted and lifted his head so fast he cringed at the movement, but shoved the hood off of his head and leaned forward. His hair was just as messy as before, his eyes wide and marveling. Unlike before, however, the boy’s face was bruised, his lip swollen with dried blood clotting a recent wound. Those pale eyes were reddened and bordered by tear-damp lashes.

The surprise on his face quickly morphed to suspicion. “What are _you_ doing? What—why—why are you here?” He crossed his arms haughtily and looked away. “If you’ve changed your mind, it’s too late and you should probably just go back to wherever the hell you Witchers come from and leave… me…” His words slowed and he peeked back up at Geralt with hesitant hope. “H-have you changed your mind?”

“No.” The response sounded harsh even to Geralt’s ears, but he stood by it. He swept another look over the boy’s condition. “Did it attack you?”

The boy stared at him. “It?”

“The alp. Did it attack you?”

His expression didn’t change. “Alp…?”

Annoyance was quickly mounting in the Witcher. He was wasting time, yet again. “The _vampire_.”

“Oh. Well. No.” The boy looked around him, mouth drawn into a tight line. “Didn’t you—I mean I saw you carry it out. Did you—did you lose it?”

“There was more.” Geralt responded through his teeth.

The boy turned his face back towards Geralt and once again he was facing down an irritatingly delighted grin. He’d never seen someone so flippant towards him, towards nearly everything. “So you missed something! That’s a bit of a surprise, now isn’t it? Mighty Witcher, letting the scary vampire run free. That can’t be good for the reputation.”

Geralt turned from the boy and began walking down the streets again. If the boy had been able to sit out here on the stoop without anything attacking him, then his target certainly wasn’t in the immediate area.

He tossed his eyes to the heavens in exasperation when he heard scrambling footsteps behind him.

“Well, hey. I mean, we can’t all be perfect you know. Even big scary Witchers.” The boy chattered on, falling into step behind him. “Sometimes, mistakes happen. Who can really blame you? Though I _will_ say, that maybe if you had an extra pair of eyes you wouldn’t have missed—”

Geralt snapped his head to the side and glared at the boy in warning. “Child—”

“Jaskier.” The boy corrected quickly with a huff, crossing his arms. “And certainly not a child, I’m _eighteen_. I’m a full-blown adult, thank you very much.”

Geralt scoffed. “An adult who cries over lost fights in the streets at 4 am.”

Jaskier fell quiet for a moment at that, so Geralt cast a weary glance his way. His fist were clenched, his head turned away from him. Geralt tried to think about what the fight might have been about. A girl perhaps. That’s what young human men fought about, wasn’t it? That or their prides.

“Yeah, well…” The boy’s voice was thin, quieter than before. “I’m not much of a fighter, I guess.”

They travelled two more blocks in silence. Geralt, thankful for a chance to actually keep an ear out for monsters, the boy likely nursing his pride. The air was even colder than before, sharp as he inhaled through his nose, trying to catch onto any acrid scent that could lead him to the alps that remained.

“I think I know what your reputation needs.”

Geralt almost groaned. Jaskier spoke much too loudly.

Jaskier continued in Geralt’s silence. “You need more exposure! Obviously, you’re doing these brave deeds in the night and no ones seeing them or hearing about them. All anyone sees is that big scary mug—and, oof, that moniker of _Butcher_ , it’s not really doing you any favors.”

Geralt was going to punch him. He was. One more word and Geralt was going to turn around and punch him in the gut so hard the boy was going to fall all over himself wheezing.

“But what if they got to see you like this? Saving towns and protecting the people! All you need, my friend, is some decent publicity!”

Geralt stopped. Jaskier skidded to a halt behind him with a small sound of protest, which died quickly in his throat.

They gotten much further down the road now and before them, was an ugly building. It was old brick and shuttered windows, with not enough lights and far too many shadows. A small sign in the lawn declared it to be a dance studio, though the graffiti across it showed it wasn’t a well-kept one. A few bare trees swayed towards the building, begging to cave it in.

Geralt could tell immediately that this must be the den. The smell was too strong, it burned at his nose even from the street. Acid and blood, the mixture of it turned his stomach. In the newfound silence, he could hear inside it as well. The soft steps of someone walking across polished wood. Two pairs. Fuck.

Jaskier made a sound beside him, something of a groan and a scoff. “Gods, I hated this place. Mistress Eliza can eat her damn heart out, I landed my tour en l’airs perfectly, every time.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt hissed, hearing the steps pause. “Go over there.” He jabbed a finger towards the other side of the street, where another empty lot waited dimly. On any normal day, it would look to be the shadiest location on the block.

Jaskier gave it a dubious look and then looked back at Geralt with a brow raised.

Geralt didn’t wait for it. He could already hear the footsteps approaching the main door. He grabbed Jaskier by the shoulder with one hand, shoving him bodily towards the lot while with he formed a sign with his other hand, throwing **Yrden** onto the sidewalk right before the door. With Jaskier finally following his directions, Geralt faced off the door and brought the flask to his lips, downing half its contents quickly and feeling the Black Blood supplements burn through his chest.

The door burst open and Geralt found himself faced with a snarling black wolf, that charged forward and straight into the circle of the sign. He could see the moment the magic took effect, the wolf’s body catching a glimmer of purple and its limbs locking up and slowing. It growled low and furious, before it shook with a burst of pain.

Geralt charged forward, silver blade drawn, and caught the beast in the shoulder as it tried to twist in time to snap at him. A canine yelp sounded, but he ignored the cries of pain as he dug the blade in deeper, trying to twist towards its heart.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a clawed hand lunge out from the darkest and rolled. The wolf was pulled with him, still caught by his deep-sunken knife. Back on his feet, he turned and faced the second alp, who was in their more humanoid form. Though their hands were nothing but claws, and their face a mockery of humanity, snarling and feral.

Geralt snarled back, arms wrapped around the throat of the wolf. He yanked his blade towards his chest and felt it collide with bone, slicing towards the spinal column. The creature writhed and howled in his grasp.

Behind him, there was a gasp. Geralt couldn’t worry about the human right now.

The alp lunged for him again, albeit slower as she entered into boundary of Geralt’s sign. Geralt dropped the now limp wolf and darted forward, meeting her in the middle and catching her side with his knife. She yelped and grabbed him in turn, lightning fast in the next moment as **Yrden** faded. Her teeth sank into his shoulder and he shouted.

Instantly she drew back and screeched, his blood dripping from her mouth a distinctly darker shade. She shuddered bodily as his poisoned blood flowed down her throat and then turned to him with a hiss.

He moved the silver chain from his shoulder as she lashed out, catching her wrist with the metal and drawing her off balance. More pained cries sounded from her as the metal burned into her skin and she teetered to her side.

She wasn’t given the chance to touch the ground, Geralt slipping forward and catching her under the ribs with his knife just in time. Gravity did the work for him, her heart falling onto his blade and stilling her gargled cry after an agonized moment.

Geralt withdrew his blade and let the body follow its original path, slumped to the ground.

He turned around, towards what had been a darkened lot, but caught the rising sun behind grey buildings with eyes black as pitch. He looked quickly away from the sight, towards the sidewalk where the human was crouched and waiting. Jaskier held a cellphone in his hand, camera pointed in Geralt’s direction, but quickly lowered it as the Witcher crossed the street towards him. The boy straightened up, eyes ever so wide.

“Wow! That was—I mean, that was—incredible, I have to say it. I can’t believe… I mean, just look.” He turned his phone around as Geralt stopped in front of him. A video played out on the screen, it was of him wrestling the wolf while snarling at the alp bearing down on him. “You look like such a badass, I mean. This is what I was _talking_ about.”

Geralt let out a slow breath, trying to center himself and not lash out at the boy in front of him. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier raised his eyes from the phone, blinking up at Geralt openly. He was beaming again, seemingly unaffected from the violent scene he’d just witnessed. A smile so wide it had to be pulling at his bloody lip painfully. “Yeah?” He sounded breathless, no doubt high on adrenaline himself.

“Go get Ro—the truck.” Jaskier didn’t move, still looking up at him, in confusion now. Geralt thrust his keys out towards him. “Go. Bring her back here.”

Geralt didn’t have to wait too long for Jaskier to return, taking the time to gather up the two bodies at the edge of the street and replace the door to the dance studio. Other than the blood stains pooling on the concrete, the area looked much the same as before they arrived, the fight doing minimal damage to surroundings. It was better than he could usually say when fighting inside a city.

Jaskier pulled up in Roach, looking awkward in the big truck, but competent enough to pull alongside the curb and cut the engine. Geralt ignored the agitation at watching anyone else drive his pride and joy, knowing this would be a one time thing. He’d need the space to let the chemicals leech from his systems and his mind to clear before handling the obnoxious teen.

When he approached the driver side, Jaskier scooted across the seats and plopped himself into the passenger seat, making room.

“Jaskier.” He growled, wrenching the door open. The boy pressed up against the other door in return, as far from his reach as he could get and fixing Geralt with a challenging look.

“I’m coming with you. Wherever you’re going. You have to take me with you.” He pressed harder against the wall and flinched as Geralt held a hand out to him, gesturing to get out of the damn truck. Jaskier shook his head. “No, I can—I can pay my own way. I’ll find some way to do it. Pay for the gas or the motel or whatever. But I’m coming with you.”

Geralt shook his head in return. He wouldn’t even consider it. “No. I’m dropping the alp bodies off at the temple and then I’m taking you home—”

“It’s my father!” Jaskier burst out suddenly, and then looked away angrily, as if cursing himself for speaking.

Geralt paused. Didn't trust his voice. "Hm?"

“The man I wanted you to kill. It’s my father.” He swallowed hard, and then slowly met Geralt’s eye again. “Don’t make me go back.”

Geralt hesitated for a long moment. Reassessed the bruises, their very first interaction. Jaskier had seemed to be joking during their conversation, so Geralt had missed that same hollow look in his eyes that he had now. He thought to the flinch he received any time he grabbed at the boy.

Suddenly, he felt his stomach twist and tear as he thought about how he’d been throwing Jaskier around from the moment they’d met.

“… fine.” He jerked himself around, walking to the bodies on the sidewalk and tossing them into the truck. He didn’t want to see the way the boy deflated at his words, or the hope in his eyes. He’d leave Jaskier in the next town over, at the first place that wasn’t here. This definitely wouldn’t be any sort of permanent arrangement. The kid wouldn’t be any better off with him then back at home, after all.

“Right, okay. Good. Good!” Jaskier’s voice followed him as he finished his work and then climbed back into the truck. Jaskier was grinning at him again, all teeth and pale, shining eyes. “ _So_ glad I got shotgun this time and your vampy friends got the back. Lucky I missed out on that the first time around, I suppose. It's a bit _brisk_. Not that you must know, bet you Witchers don't even _feel_ the cold.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and sighed. This was going to be a long drive to the next town, he could already tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up so much fucking longer than I thought it would be and the endings a touch more rushed than I wanted. But you know. I refuse to edit this lol


End file.
